Page 94 of Playing to Win

“Politically, of course.” She let go of him and returned to her sorbet. “You’re a perfect example of how hard work and ambition can overcome the most unpleasant circumstances. There are those who say that cutting benefits forces people to sink or swim. Well, here you are swimming to a better life. You’re proof that austerity works.”

Colin’s skin crawled with horror.Him, a poster boy for Tory policies?

He opened his mouth to tell Lady Kirkross he could only hope to “swim” because tuition was free in Scotland, a benefit that her people would happily take away. To tell her that all his hard work and ambition might get him exactly fucking nowhere, thanks to the shit economy magnified by her beloved austerity.

“Haha!” Andrew’s voice rang out from the garden. “Got you, ya wee fandan.”

Colin closed his mouth. “Sorry,” he told Lady Kirkross. “I may have taught him that word.”

She chuckled. “At least he’s learning something in Glasgow.”

Colin stared down into the blue-purple sorbet, willing himself to eat despite his churning stomach. He recalled what Andrew had said that first night they’d met again in Fergus and John’s kitchen:Now you’ll be a productive member of society, rather than continue your parents’ toxic welfare habits.

Those words had made Colin feel small as a gnat. Did Andrew still feel that way? Is that what he’d told his parents, that Colin was a perfect example of why their beliefs were all so very right?

Andrew and his father trudged up the porch stairs, each with a wiggling terrier under his arm. “Brilliant scrum, Dad.” He held up the Scottie dog as if to toss it. “Mum, catch!”

“Don’t you dare,” she said with a laugh.

Andrew angled the wee black pup so they were nose to nose. “Back inside with you and your failed rebellion.” He took a step toward the porch door, then stopped short. “Oh.”

Colin turned to see a large man in his thirties ambling toward them, with the posture of someone who already owned this place.

“George,” the others said, with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

He stopped when he saw Colin. “Terribly sorry. I forgot you had company tonight.”

Aye, right, Colin thought as he stood to greet his boyfriend’s infamous brother, musing how all of Lord Kirkross’s handsomeness genes had gone to his second son.

Andrew stepped forward, still wrangling the Scottie. “George, Lord Ballingry, may I introduce Colin MacDuff, my boyfriend.”

“Lord Ballingry, how do you do.”

George hesitated before shaking the hand Colin extended, long enough to make it awkward, long enough to make Colin wonder if he’d erred in offering it. A line from theDebrett’sguide came back to him:A gentleman is never rude unintentionally.

“Will you join us for pudding?” Lord Kirkross asked his elder son.

Lord Ballingry’s gaze slithered from Colin to the table, conveying that he’d rather dine with a rabid stoat. “Thank you, but no. I only popped in to give you the good news. The sale of the loch quadrant will be finalized on the twenty-second.” He turned to Andrew. “Mr. Olkhovsky was particularly enamored of the boathouse. He’ll be demolishing it to make room for adacha, of course, but he found the location simply charming.” George spared Colin a glance. “Adachais a Russian country house.”

Colin nodded. “Yes, I know.”

Andrew had gone utterly still at the news. The Scottie stretched up and licked his chin, snapping him out of his fog. “We’re staying there tonight. I suppose it’ll be the last time.” He went to the door and deposited the dog inside, then came back to take the Westie from his father.

Lady Kirkross seemed suddenly uncomfortable as well as she adjusted her teacup on its saucer. She gestured for Colin and her husband to take their seats again. Shoulders slumped, Andrew made his way to the table through the thick, silent air.

“Are the two of you going riding tomorrow?” George asked him. “No doubt your Mr. MacDuff would love to meet Timothy.”

Andrew stiffened as he sat down. “I don’t know.”

“You should,” George said. “The three of you could have a jolly old time.”

“Who’s Timothy?” Colin asked, though he sensed he shouldn’t.

“The stableboy,” George said.

“The stablemaster,” Andrew said, louder, through clenched teeth. “George, if you’re not staying—”

“Where are you from, Mr. MacDuff?” the earl asked.

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